The Locksmith

by Howe, Barbara;

  I couldn’t help it. The icy fear that had gripped my heart for the past day was melting away, my headache easing. He was teasing, anyway. No one could make the Fire Warlock nervous.

  “But then why does everyone think that the Office always goes to the oldest available warlock?”

  He sighed. “Laziness, neglect, irascibility, and all the other sins have taken their toll on the knowledge of the Office. For the first two hundred years, the Fire Office did go from appointed warlock to appointed warlock in orderly succession. We Warlocks have all been mere humans, not demigods, as popular opinion seems to hold. Far too few have been scholars, and few of us have ever wanted to admit that the end of our reign is just around the corner, so this important bit of information was lost in the mists of history. I did not know it when the Office landed on me, but since then I have read texts no one else has seen for hundreds of years. I am a font of trivia about all things relating to the Office, some of it even occasionally useful.”

  This last came out in a surprisingly bitter tone. I don’t think he’d wanted me to hear that; he hurried on. “And while I encourage women to be scholars and mages if they have the intellect, I confess that I am old-fashioned enough to find the idea of a woman holding this Office appalling. The Office is here to protect women, not to put one where she will die a violent death.”

  “What? But you said…”

  He smiled wryly. “I beg your pardon. Old habits are hard to break. Rather, I feel it is my duty to protect women and children.”

  I sat up straight. “Yes, sir. Thank you. Have you anointed….”

  “Yes, Beorn is to be my successor, and he knows what to do to anoint René.” I winced, and he said gently, “As I said, I am not a seer, but others are. We have reason to believe René will not be called on to be the Fire Warlock for years, perhaps not for decades.”

  “But someone has seen him as the Fire Warlock?” He nodded. “As an adult?” He nodded again.

  I leaned back in the chair, relieved about René. My fears for Warlock Quicksilver were not relieved at all.

  He said, “It is unlikely that you will become the Fire Warlock, but I cannot promise you will not. Despite our precautions and the Office’s own safeguards, it may come about that you have to hold the Office between Beorn and René, or after René. I simply do not know. That is why, for your own protection, Beorn and I intend to give you the same training that we are giving René. Will you go along with this plan?”

  I nodded slowly. He sighed. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Sir, how does the Office transfer to a new Warlock? I mean, how does he know?”

  “The Token of Office—the ring—goes to the successor. I was sitting at my desk in my study at the university when the ring dropped onto the page I was writing, setting the papers and nearly the whole study on fire. I had not expected the Office to come to me so soon. There were two other warlocks in age between my predecessor and me, so it was quite a shock. I have since come to believe that my predecessor—my teacher and a good friend—somehow stumbled on the key phrase used for anointing a successor.”

  “What if you didn’t want it? Could you just, say, pick it up with tongs and hand it on to the next warlock?”

  The Warlock looked dumbstruck. He blinked at me, before saying, “Ah… I have no idea. No one has ever attempted that. You must understand that, even with the inherent difficulties that come with the Office, the allure of power is strong, as is the sense of duty. I had not thought I wanted it, but when it was there, I did not hesitate to accept. It never occurred to me not to.”

  He considered this idea for several minutes. I think for a while he forgot I was there, because he came to with a start. “I beg your pardon. I want to talk to you about a different subject entirely.” He paused, and rubbed the back of his neck. A muscle under his eye twitched.

  What could be worse than talking about being the Warlock?

  “It concerns your natural talent for locks. The Warlock Locksmith of the Great Coven played a large role in the creation of the interconnected spells and locks that make up the four Offices. Our enemies have had no success in breaking the Offices largely because there simply has not been anyone, in this country or elsewhere, for a thousand years, who has had the talent to understand what he did.

  “There has been speculation for at least two centuries that we were due to have another locksmith arise. I have been searching high and low for most of my reign, hoping to find such a person. That is what most of my little jaunts outside the Fortress have been about—inspecting adolescents who have been rumoured to display unusual talents.” He gave me a rueful smile. “And here you were, under my nose, for months.” He paused, and rubbed the back of his neck again. “My dear Lucinda, I need your help.”

  “That’s why you told us to become experts in locks, isn’t it? But what do you want me to do?”

  His voice was steady, but he had a white-knuckled grip on the chair arms. “I want you to help me break the Office of the Fire Warlock.”

  The Warlock’s Plea

  I held my breath, waiting for lightning to strike. Had Warlock Quicksilver gone mad? Break the Office? If he had said he was handing Frankland over to the Empire I would not have been more shocked. The ruby in the Token of Office glowed and sparkled in its normal glittering dance, not at all like the previous day’s angry throbbing. I breathed again.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I must have misunderstood. I thought you said you wanted me to help you break the Office of the Fire Warlock.”

  He gave me a rather tight-lipped smile and let go of the chair arms. “That is what I said. I am afraid I exaggerated to make sure I had your attention. I do not intend to abolish the Office. I want to fine-tune it to better meet the needs of the country, but in order to do so we need to take it apart and rebuild it.”

  That sounded saner, but only a little. “But, but…”

  “But what? How? Or why? Let us start with why. The Office is far too rigid. I think you are aware of that. I ascribe many of the problems we have, from the uselessness of the noble class to the scorched circles on the landscape, to the inflexibility of the four offices. The world outside has changed, and we have not. Things that worked well for us during the first five hundred years, when the rest of Europa was in chaos, do not work well anymore. Our merchants and craftsmen are not keeping up with innovations in other countries. Our brightest scholars are going to universities elsewhere rather than foreign scholars flocking here. That is galling—my own personal bias. Three hundred years ago, our universities were the best in the world.

  “The Office has one reason for existence and one only, the safety and security of the kingdom. The grave danger is that the Office’s rigidity will become the most significant threat to our security. Whether the Office itself will recognise that it has become a menace—and what will happen if it does—is an open question. I do not know which I fear more: that the Office never changes and the country slowly chokes to death in its embrace, or the Office recognises the threat and destroys itself. If that happens, chaos will reign, and we will be swallowed by the Empire.”

  He paused and studied me again. “Have I frightened you enough?”

  “Yes, sir. Would you please stop? I’m tired of being scared.”

  “I am sorry, my dear. I would no more frighten you deliberately than I would set a kitten on fire.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You may know that the Fire Office is not the only one with problems. The Water Office is broken—the Frost Maiden spends less energy using her office than in opposing it. It dispenses a nobles-are-presumed-innocent, common-people-be-damned variety of justice that is no longer appropriate. But she would not welcome my suggestions about fixing the Water Office.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s obvious.”

  “As to how…” He went to a bookcase standing next to a large desk, and took three large bundles o
f papers off the shelves. “I have been working on that for more than a century.” He hefted the bundles of papers, and then dropped them, one by one, onto the desk with a thud. “This is my life’s work. When the Office came to me, and I perceived the problems it caused, I undertook the task of puzzling out the spells that had gone into creating it. At the time I thought a few adjustments would make things run more smoothly. What I found was an interconnected tangle that may not function if one piece is out of place.

  “I spent more than seventy years researching and studying, and planning what needed to change. I got this far,” he said, resting his hand on the pile of papers. “And then I ran into a wall. After twenty years—twenty years!—on the problem, I gave up. There is, at the core of the spells making up the Office, at least one lock, possibly more, that completely baffles me. I recognise that there is a lock, and that is the extent of it. I cannot make changes to any of the spells while that lock is in place. Even if I were able to, until I know what else is hidden I cannot risk making changes for fear of the whole thing crashing down like a house of cards.”

  He walked back to the chair and sat down. “I am the most powerful and capable wizard in the known world, but I have been defeated by a single lock.”

  We sat in silence while I struggled to make sense of all he had said. An orange tabby emerged from under the desk, walked over to us, and rubbed up against the Warlock’s legs.

  “Ah, Lucinda, may I introduce Cassandra? Cassandra, Lucinda.” The cat jumped into his lap, and he scratched her under the chin. “She is my sole concession to female companionship, and is quite spoiled, I am afraid.”

  The cat settled down on his lap and he stroked her head and back. I imagined him doing that to me. I cursed myself as hot blood flooded my cheeks. He looked down at the purring cat, and didn’t seem to notice. I had my treacherous face under control by the time he looked up.

  “Sir, why hasn’t the Office blasted us out of existence for talking like this?”

  “That is a good question. For many years, I lived in terror that it would do so. When I began this project, I did not dare talk to anyone or even write down what I found. As time passed, I started making notes. The only other people I have talked to about this are Beorn, his father, and grandfather, and Mother Celeste. I broached the subject with Beorn’s grandfather only after I ran into the wall about the lock.

  “The Office is not a living thing. It does not have a mind of its own, and yet sometimes it acts as if it does. It is, as far as I know, the most complex entity ever created by magic. I sometimes wonder if the whole is greater than the sum of the parts, and that the Great Coven created something that even they did not fully understand. Can mere humans create something with a mind of its own, or even something that simply acts that way? And if we could, how would we ever determine which it is?”

  He smiled at my bafflement. “I am sorry, that is a theoretical question for another day. Neither of us is in prime shape to tackle that one now. Back to the question at hand. Sometimes I have the oddest feeling, as if there were something aware, or almost aware, looking over my shoulder and approving of the work I have done, as if the Office itself recognises that it is too rigid and needs to be repaired.

  “But that is most likely sheer nonsense,” he went on briskly. “More likely either the Great Coven never considered the Warlock himself would be a threat, or whatever the Office is, it is supremely confident, knowing that my puny efforts will come to naught, and feeling no need to waste any effort protecting itself.

  “Maybe none of those explanations make sense to you. The only things I know for sure are that the Office has never applied any pressure to make me stop trying to remould it, and that it does not now see you as a threat. That does not mean I may not yet trigger something that causes it to blast me into a charred lump.”

  “And me along with you?” I asked.

  “That is indeed possible.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh. “Given your sense of self-preservation, that might explain your reluctance to be recognised as a witch.”

  It was too late to go back into hiding. I chewed on my lip. I’d rather help the Warlock than do anything else with my life. If the Fire Office killed me for it, I would have a clear conscience, and it was better than drowning.

  “At least it will be a swift end. Is there anything I should do now besides read those texts with Master Sven and René?”

  He looked startled. “My dear, I assumed you would tell me to go jump in a lake—a dreadful thing to say to a fire wizard, by the way. I am honoured you are willing to help me. The only suggestion I have for now is that you should change the lock hiding your magical talent to one that hides it from everyone else, but not from you. I could suggest wording changes, but it will be better if you work something out on your own.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll try.”

  “Any other questions?”

  “Yes, sir. Do I need to spend all my time with Beorn and Master Sven? I enjoy baking; I’d like to still help Mrs Cole in the kitchen.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he smiled. “That was not what I expected, but if you find it relaxing, then certainly you may, and not just because I enjoy the results. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl, and all that. Just be clear in your own mind that the baking is secondary to your studies.

  “One more thing. All of the four Officeholders are required to introduce a new level five talent to the others. This is something we cannot avoid, but I can postpone it for another week, perhaps. I am not worried about the other Officeholders; there is no danger of any of them talking where they should not. The members of the Fire Guild Council are more likely to talk without thinking, but we can delay introducing you to them for longer, perhaps even several months.

  “Now you should go back downstairs, eat an early supper, and go to bed.”

  He rose, making the cat jump to the floor. She ran and hid under the desk. At the door, he paused, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. With his hand on my shoulder, he said, “Thank you. Sleep well,” and let me go.

  The Warlock needed my help. I floated down the stairs, happier than I had any right to be after agreeing to take on a task that might end in the Fire Office blasting me off the face of the planet. Further, I had stood my ground over René and he had backed down. I could have taken on Storm King itself.

  In bed that night, my mood was not so sanguine. Rumours and speculation about the Warlock’s time being about up were running rife in the Fortress and Blazes. I had bolted from the table when the scholars around me began laying odds on how long his successors would last. Considering a future without him in it made me feel as if I were back in the aerie, my head spinning with vertigo, a great void yawning at my feet.

  How could I learn enough about locks to be useful in a short time if he had worked on the problem for decades and gotten nowhere? Even if I did figure them out someday, how could Beorn or René hope to repair the Office if he wasn’t there to guide us?

  Mrs Cole gave me a sleeping draught, and suggested I read something dull while waiting for it to work. Without enthusiasm I picked up the first book that came to hand on my bookshelf. I didn’t look at it until I settled under the sheet, and then I flung it as hard as I could against the far wall.

  Contrite over my mistreatment of a precious book, I got up and put it on the table by the door. I would take it back to the library tomorrow. Having Nicole and the Warlock in my room would not do anything for my peace of mind.

  Preparations for War

  The next morning the dining room was abuzz with gossip over the Warlock’s actions the day before. Mrs Cole filled me in as I kneaded dough.

  “He went to see Mrs Johnson—she’s a housewife down in Blazes—and was with her for a long time, then the two of them together went to the school, where he pulled Warlock Arturos out of his class, and left Mrs Johnson there. Then
he and Arturos went to the Guild Hall where he laid down the law, finally, to the rest of the Guild Council. He said he was out of patience, that Arturos was going to be spending all his time now at the Fortress getting ready to be the next Warlock, and that Mrs Johnson was taking over for Arturos. They of course got all huffy. Flint did most of the talking. He said that was ridiculous, Mrs Johnson was only a level three, Arturos wasn’t next in line, and that kind of training wasn’t needed anyway. He—Himself, that is, not Flint—said Mrs Johnson was an excellent teacher, Arturos was next in line because he said he was, and in the early years the Warlock had an apprenticeship of ten years or more. If Flint didn’t like it, he could go jump in a lake. And on the way out, he turned back and said—and the clerk in the Guild Hall swears these are the exact words—‘You, Flint, should thank me, because, God knows, if another Scorching Time comes, you will not last three weeks.’

  “He’s set the Council on its ear, that’s for certain. They’re pissed off, but the rest of us, we’re scared. He’s been the Warlock longer than even most of our grandparents could remember, and what it will be like without him…I don’t even want to think about it.” She wiped her eyes with her apron. “Of course, after what happened at the christening…” Her voice trailed away.

  I understood. He was getting ready for war.

  Beorn started the day’s session by asking, “What are the three ways to stop a fire?”

  René said, “Cool it off, or smother it.”

  I said, “Remove the fuel.”

  René smacked himself on the head, “I knew that!”

  Beorn asked, “Now, which of those methods is available to the Fire Guild?”

  René said, “Cool it off, I think.”

  “Right. Removing the fuel works sometimes for someone who is telekinetic, but neither of you are, and that isn’t specific to fire wizards anyway. An air wizard could blow it out, and a water wizard could pour water on it, but we can’t, and we don’t generally have any means of smothering it, so for a fire wizard, that leaves sucking the heat out of it. How does that compare with starting a fire?”